1964 : like a fist, like a knife.
LONDON / MY WAR IS NOT OVER.
Joined September 2014
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He liked it when you’re honestㅡalthough he’s simply undeserving of it; of your honesty, your tenderness, the way you came to him with your defenses collapsingㅡyou live in a reality he could never understood. And yet, he was haunted by the desire to learn about
seen every darkest corner of London.
“Let’s try again.” he stopped the lighter mid-roll, pressing it flat against the table as a final negotiation. “This time, give me something that doesn’t smell like fairytale.” | @cursedaengxl
rythmic clinkㅡfilling each syllables of the empty silence.
“If I had a nickel for every person who said that, I’d already be retired on a beach now.” Karl’s gaze sharpenedㅡthe warmth in his eyes dissipated, only to be replaced by cold, calculating stare of a man who had
“Tell me love, Is there a chance for a man like me to find what he’s looking for, or am I just chasing ghosts in the fog again?” | @indicareis
clung between them. He didn’t reach outㅡno, not yet. He let the quiet linger a little bit longer, letting it settle in just right. Beyond the shared lukewarm tea, you could probably already guess his intentions, which was shrouded behind that practiced charming tug of a smile.
